


Pain of the Past

by Final_fanatic_XV



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Accustomed tears, Confusion, Gen, Nighmares, Optimism, PTSD, Poetic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Rape, Sad, Short, perminent emotional damage, self comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26059237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Final_fanatic_XV/pseuds/Final_fanatic_XV
Summary: When "it's just a dream" is no longer enough, because reality hurts just as much as nightmares of the past. But give those nightmares to an optimist, and you get optimal confusion.
Kudos: 3





	Pain of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning!!!
> 
> This was written after my own experience, with some aspects changed, of course. It contains rape, so please be warned.
> 
> Enjoy!

The finger's around Propmto's neck tightened, leaving marks unable to even be called bruises compared to the hickeys littering his neck. Everywhere hurt as he cried out into the dark alley. His stomach grated against the concrete wall with the repedetive shoves the man behind him was giving. His vision blurred with a mixture of tears and losing conscious as he struggled for breaths.

Prompto hated how his crotch stirred to life as the abusive man behind him committed sexual assault. He wanted to throw up as familiar auburn locks fell in and out of his sight. It hurt so bad, the way he split him open, the way he strangled him, the was he slammed him against the hard wall, but none of it could compare to the pain he felt in his heart. The man broke him, both outside and in, physically and emotionally.

The man huskily whispered dirty words in his ear. "What a slut, Prompto," he chuckled, "you've grown so much since I've last seen you." Prompto thought about dying in that moment. The man slammed into him harder, Prompto knowing his release was close. He pounded into him once more and--Prompto jumped awake, screaming.

Panting hard, he brushed his sweaty bangs from his forehead as he looked around his familiar home. He repeated in his head that it was just one of his nighmares again, tears streaming from his eyes as freely as the sobs streamed from his mouth. He wrapped his arms around himself in a familiar manner, shaking. As he folded his knees up to his chest, he tried desperately to ignore the awfulness between his legs.

"It's okay. Listen. It's me. Just me. I'm safe," Prompto repeated, shaking the dream's words from his head, "I'm safe." Five years ago, as a teenager, Prompto got raped by the very person who created him, a man of his own blood.

Ever since that day, Prompto had had trouble hearing voices with that damn accent as the man, which made things very awkward with Ignis for a while. Ever since that day, Prompto would hum songs to himself while walking alone, always. It made him feel safer, somehow. Ever since that day, Prompto had never dared become sexually active with anyone except himself. It hurt too much, and sometimes it hurt to even do it to himself.

For a long time, the blonde would have nightmares up to four times a night, a bare minimum of once every time his head met with his pillow. Now, after years, they only came once or twice a month, but it still hurt every time. Prompto never knew how to move past it, and he was too scared to really reach out. He didn't know how to say it to someone.

Noctis knew, though. He had called Prompto the next day when he didn't show up at school, and the blonde couldn't help but burst out in tears, Noctis coming as fast as he could to see him. When he got there, Prompto blurted out the important details, not allowing Noctis the comforting touches he wished to give him. The raven was shocked with the news, but he believed every word, promising Prompto he wouldn't tell anyone.

The prince was young, and he didn't know what to do. Thinking back on it, he probably would have told Ignis and Gladiolus and try to get Prompto some professional help, but he was glad Prompto was at least mostly okay now. He was just glad that Prompot didn't kill himself, like he said he wanted.

When he had first said that, Noctis was still too shocked by the rape reveal to cry. He was just shocked. His tears came later, though. For the first few weeks of Prompto constantly saying it, Noctis would cry himself to sleep every night, praying he would be able to see the life back in Prompto's eyes someday. He even found a sick feeling of reliefe when he would only cut himself.

He didn't want his best friend to die. He loved him, and he wanted desperately to believe he was smarter than that. Prompto would talk about the assault nearly every time he visited him for a while, Noctis soaking up every detail as he tried to get his eyes to soak up all his tears. After three months or so, Prompto started talking about it very rarely. Noctis got worried, but didn't push him into anything. Then one day when he went to see him, Prompto acted awkward for most the time, then he got really quiet for a minute. Then he hugged him. He actually hugged him, and allowed Noctis hug him back. Noctis cried that time. He knew his friend was recovering.

And now Prompto never mentioned it to Noctis. Sure, he ended up finding out about the nightmares after a while, but Prompto never told him what they were from. And sure, Noctis probably had some suspicions, but he trusted Prompto enough to let him sort it out on his own. He trusted Prompto to reach out if he needed it, and he trusted Prompto wouldn't kill himself, nor cut himself.

But here he was, crying at the nighmares of his raper. After a minute of quietly sobbing into his knees, Prompto turned to his nightstand and grabbed a tissue, drying his eyes and blowing his nose as he rested his achey head on his pillow. He was exhausted, emotionally mentally and physically. He shut his red-rimmed eyes, sighing as his eyes leaked the occasional tear.

That's how it was now, just occasional tears. It hurt to even think about what happened, and though he knew that was unhealthy, he tried to be happy things were better now. He still had problems, but he had become accustomed to the changes he had to make for them.

He still hid it, but it hurt. But it was better. But it was confusing. But he couldn't think about it and sort things out without it hurting, so it was his life. He was a happy person, and that day made him stronger. But it made him weaker. But it made things harder. But he tried to look at it in an optimistic light. But it hurt.

The old wounds would only tear open when his nighmares creeped into his mind.  
And it was painful. And it was confusing. And it ashamed him.  
But he was happy. Trully happy. Sure, he could be happier, but he was mostly happy.  
And that was enough for him.

His final tear that night fell with happiness.


End file.
